


The Future's In Our Hands (And We'll Never Be The Same Again)

by galacticlance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Forbidden Love, Hero Lance, Keith exposes all the flaws with the hero system, League of Villains, M/M, Pro Hero Lance, Tears, True Love, Villain Keith (Voltron), but it does have angst, hahahahah ha h a, not really - Freeform, there's a plot if you squint, there's one line I love, this has no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticlance/pseuds/galacticlance
Summary: “I should’ve known,” Lance muttered to himself, spinning on his heel and pulling his mask up. “Please evacuate the street!” he called, mask amplifying his voice with a thought. “There is no need for panic, but spread the word!”It must have looked odd, a Pro Hero crouched in battle mode, calling for a close-range evacuation, when the biggest threat seemed to be a sparrow pecking at a discarded fast food wrapper.But Lance knew better.------The number 8 hero, Blue Lion, encounters one of the League of Villains' most valued members - a figure shrouded in mystery and cloaked with the name Marmora. That night, Lance meets an old acquaintance, and together they talk about the world.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 70





	The Future's In Our Hands (And We'll Never Be The Same Again)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by - and I am 100% serious here - the League of Villains themselves. They gave me the idea. Specifically. Also happy birthday! Hope you like this.
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> The second half of this fic practically wrote itself, but I absolutely love it. Yes it's angsty, no I don't know what happens after.
> 
> Also I'm out of my writers block!!!! Yay!!!! Words!!!
> 
> Ally beta'd this for me, and she is amazing. Her words were very useful, especially with limited knowledge of the BNHA universe. Here's her [Twitter](https://twitter.com/okerzaude)
> 
> Come say hi to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/galacticlance), [Tumblr](https://galacticlance.tumblr.com/), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/galacticlance_/), though I'm all but dead on everything apart from twitter.

It was on quiet, sunny days like these that Lance found the most action took place. Not necessarily  _ big _ action, perhaps just a D-rank villain causing trouble for the hell of it, but it was action nonetheless. And Lance was nobody if he didn’t love action.

Breaking free from the gaggle of fangirls he’d just encountered coming out of a nearby mall, the number 8 hero Blue Lion continued his patrol. Lance flicked his hood down, the faux fur settling over his shoulders. It was good for the cooler weather, good for his image, good for the  _ aesthetic _ , but he found it cut into his peripheral vision annoyingly. Besides, it was far, far too warm for a fur hood today. 

A button on his temple caused his lion mask to fold in upon itself until his face was bare, much better suited for a stroll round the neighbourhood. The midday sun glinted off the excess of class and chrome that covered the high rise buildings in the area. While today was prime for a good fight, Lance hadn’t come across anything even vaguely out of the ordinary. He supposed he should be grateful - he was, in a way - because it meant the citizens were safe and he didn’t have to risk getting hurt.

Still… it was nice to sock a bad guy in the face every few days. 

With a flick of his tail - a mechanical attachment to his utility belt that linked with his mask and through some complicated science-y stuff Pidge had tried to explain also with his  _ mind _ \- Lance tossed a rock into the air and began to play keepie-uppie to keep himself entertained and reflexes sharp. 

Sure, the hero bulletin and general mass media may criticize him for ‘slacking on the job’, but he didn’t see any other heroes who could dodge a bullet at point-blank range. 

The rock tumbled into the gutter as Lance turned a corner, smirking, sending a quick salute and wink to the group of young women waiting to cross on the other side of the road. They giggled, which only made Lance’s grin widen.

With a rather showy hop, skip, and a jump, he pivoted 180 degrees and used his tail to launch himself into a backflip, landing close to the ground. He held his position for a beat, face serious, then popped back up to his feet with a flirty smile, firing finger guns in the direction of the group.

They weren’t looking at him.

Not a second too late, Lance liquidized his midriff. 

A knife flew through, blade glowing red, continuing its arc until it clattered to the street. 

“I should’ve known,” Lance muttered to himself, spinning on his heel and pulling his mask up. “Please evacuate the street!” he called, mask amplifying his voice with a thought. “There is no need for panic, but spread the word!”

It must have looked odd, a Pro Hero crouched in battle mode, calling for a close-range evacuation, when the biggest threat seemed to be a sparrow pecking at a discarded fast food wrapper. 

But Lance knew better.

He cast his gaze upwards, finding a figure hidden in the only pocket of shadow for a mile.

“You know, if you wanted to actually hurt me, you’d’ve waited until there wasn’t a human radar 30 feet in front of me.”

The figure dropped from its perch on the building’s windowsill, landing deftly. As it unfurled, Lance’s mask began to analyse the all-too-familiar features of the League of Villain’s very own Marmora.

They were tall, built strongly, arms just a fraction too long to be proportionally correct. They too wore a chestplate, though where Lance’s was white, emblazoned with a stylised blue V (Pidge and Hunk were not below using him as a walking advertisement for the hero alliance, Voltron), theirs was black. As was the probably armoured bodysuit that covered them neck to toe, and their wrist guards. 

A thin black hood covered their head, and a swath of what seemed to be tight black fabric obscured their mouth and nose.

Black bangs (what was it with this guy and black? Edgy much) hung over their eyes, which Lance swore were purple, and were absolutely stunning. Enough to entrap him for slightly too many seconds.

Another knife came flying from the figure’s hand, this one aimed for Lance’s thigh. He shifted his weight and dialed down the solidity enough to let it pass through without injuring him. 

Bonuses of having a state-of-matter altering quirk meant he could transform his own matter and matter of anything touching him (if he so decided) to any state between completely solid and completely gas. When in a not-solid state, it was also a lot more difficult to get hurt, which was nice.

“Dude, where are you even getting these knives?” He was yet to see any sheaths, and so far his best guess was that they were somehow concealed in their wristguards. He knew it couldn’t be his quirk, that was an entirely different matter.

His tone may be light and playful, but Lance was serious. Jaw set behind his mask, gaze steely, Lance flexed his fingers, claws extending. His tail was still behind him as he stalked forwards, a cat with its eyes on its prey. 

An apt description for the Blue Lion.

He lunged, feinting at his opponent’s face. 

One of Lance’s favourite ultimate moves was one he liked to call ‘Splash’n’Dash’. Pidge had even tried paying him to rename it. 

It wasn’t that technical of a move, or even that powerful in and of itself, but it was hella useful. A feint to the eyes - put enough force behind it to give the liquid that used to be his hand momentum to splash into his opponent’s eyes. Use it as a distraction to run, to land a hit, to do whatever he could in that time. 

In this case, his attempted move was to deal a blow to their legs and knock them to the ground. 

Key word attempted.

Because, as per usual, the feint - which had been 100% correctly aimed, thanks very much inevitable future-Pidge-analysis - missed, Marmora having dodged, and was now dealing a painful blow to the small of Lance’s back.

The wrong person in this situation was on the ground, Lance thought to himself as he gritted his teeth and pulled his liquidized hand back, jumping to his feet. 

He lunged again, not bothering with a feint, and blocked Marmora with his forearm and he came in for a strike. Using his free elbow, Lance knocked another mystery knife from Marmora’s other hand, hearing the metal skitter across the pavement. He grabbed the limb before he could reach for another weapon. 

They tussled for a minute or two, barely more than a petty scrap, until Lance managed to maneuver Marmora into a headlock.

“So,” he began, somewhat breathless but still authoritative, bordering on taunting thanks to his smirk. “What you’re gonna do now, is you’re gonna stay nice and- ow what the fuck, man!” 

Lance had no choice but to drop Marmora before his exposed skin burnt even further. In his triumph, he may or may not have forgotten about his adversary’s quirk.

Marmora looked different now. Their chestplate had ignited with four neon orange streaks, and through the material of the bodysuit, Lance could see the glowing cracks that resembled molten lava breaking through earth’s crust. 

It certainly  _ felt _ like it. 

“Dude, c’mon, that’s a low blow, even for you.” Lance spared a moment to examine his biceps, deeming them unhurt enough to continue the fight.

His opponent just stared at him, eyes crinkling ever so slightly into what Lance could only describe as a smirkless smirk, lit by the glow of the magma cracks decorating their skin.

If Lance was paying attention to his wider surroundings, he would have noticed something was off, but alas, the distinct lack of crowd and police reinforcements escaped his notice in favour of the figure in front of him.

Lance cracked his neck for show, never once removing his eyes from his opponent’s. “Fine. If we’re playing dirty, then…” And he launched into his least favourite of his ultimate moves.

Being in gaseous form always made Lance nervous. It made him feel unsteady, disorganised, made it hard to concentrate on himself and where he was. Hence, he never remained in it for longer than a few seconds.

But those few seconds were all it took to ride the breeze up and towards Marmora, and reform a foot above his head. 

Lance’s boot connected with his opponent’s wrist guards with enough force to send Marmora stumbling backwards. 

They recovered quickly though. Quickly enough for Lance to have to dodge a kick of his own upon landing. 

Another knife came and went, but Lance cursed very creatively as yet another one sliced his shorts and grazed his thigh through the skin-tight protective layer that covered his legs and torso.

“Aw, really? These bodysuits aren’t cheap, y’know,” he complained. 

Though props to Marmora, that first knife had been a good distraction from the real threat, much like Lance’s own Splash’n’Dash. 

Lance was just about to push forwards for another attack when an astounding  _ boom _ shook the street itself. His head whipped around, searching, despite the really rather hard to miss mushroom cloud of dust and debris that rose above the skyline.

“Fuck.”

His face fell, shock and panic only allowed to show for a moment, before he gritted his teeth and took off in the opposite direction, already calling up his suspiciously silent comm line. Turns out it wasn’t silent, what with fifteen missed messages from the number one hero herself, The Princess, and too many to count from both Hunk and Pidge.

He would pay for this later, but for now, he pulled up an open line and grimaced at Allura’s shout of exertion that met his ears.

_ ‘Look who finally fucking shows up. It’s not like the fucking League of Villains themselves are staging a mass-scale assult on the city or anything. Oh wait, except for the fact they fucking  _ are _.’  _

“Look, Pidge, I’m sorry. I’m only a few blocks away. There was a rogue LOV member to take care of.”

_ ‘I’ll send a squad of the police to come after him, Blue. Just get here quickly, we need all the help we can get.’ _

“No need, Princess. They’re already long gone.” Lance didn’t even have to check over his shoulder to know his opponent had disappeared back into the shadows they came from.

They wouldn’t be found again unless they wanted to be.

\-- -- --

The moon was barely a sliver in the sky, hiding behind a fair smattering of clouds. The lack of light was no issue, though. Afterall, what were street lamps for? 

Lance shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the worn olive material letting him blend into his surroundings as just another guy in the street. Right now, he was just good old Lance, any other dude in his mid twenties out for a late night walk.

A familiar blade lay alone in the gutter, missed by the cleanup crew. Lance smirked, stooping to pick it up. 

It was nothing special, a basic knife made of dull black metal, tempered to withstand incredible heat and still hold its shape. It reflected the red of a neon sign advertising for some hotel as Lance turned it over in his hand.

The street was empty when Lance slipped sideways into a darkened alleyway.

His footsteps bounced off the walls as he walked, the only sound filling the narrow space. 

A figure was leaning against the wall ahead of him. Waiting.

“Looks like you dropped this.” Lance threw the nondescript blade into the air, watching it flip over itself, once, twice, before deftly snatching the hilt and turning the knife in his hands, offering it to the figure.

“Thanks.” The figure took it, sheathing it at his hip.

Lance tucked his hand back into his jacket pocket, and looked at his feet, uniform smirk dropping. He didn’t know how to start the conversation, even though they’d had it hundreds of times.

“Keith…” He stepped back until the cold concrete of the wall began to seep through his clothing, and rested his head beside hastily scrawled, illegible graffiti. “You distracted me from the fight. Again. What are you trying to do?”

The figure shifted, a patch of weak moonlight falling and illuminating what the shadows were hiding from Lance’s eyes.

A young man, barely older than he was. Long, dark hair pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, pale skin, violet eyes. A purple mark on each cheek, pointed ears, and arms that were just a little too long. Remnants of his mother’s mutant type quirk. 

A familiar cropped red jacket covered a plain black t-shirt and leggings, white boots pulled high, one propped against the wall, knee bent.

“Please, Keith, I just want answers.” He closed his eyes. “I know it’s not the League’s orders, The Princess confirmed that. You’re doing it alone.”

“I…”

Lance lifted his head, trying to meet Keith’s eyes, only to find them turned away.

“It’s dangerous. The things the rest of the League do. I don’t…” Lance watched Keith’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

In any other situation, Lance would have laughed out loud. But right now… all he could muster was a sad chuckle as he tipped his head back to look at the cloud covered stars.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but getting hurt is pretty much the job description of being a Pro Hero.”

“They could  _ kill _ you, Lance.” Keith’s gaze was hard, an edge of concern - of deep-rooted panic - as he pushed off the wall, stepping closer, heat beginning to quite literally radiate from his skin, the alleyway illuminated from the hairline fractures that curled down his arms. 

Lance said nothing as he took a deep breath and slumped back against the wall.

“I know they can. I know they  _ would _ . You stand for everything they hate - a top ten Pro Hero with a heart that has more than enough room for the entire country. Someone who is determined to keep peace and prosperity. They want to watch the world burn, starting with you.”

“You said they,” Lance noted, head lolling to the side. “Not we. Aren’t you one of the League’s most valued members, Marmora?”

Keith’s voice was so quiet that Lance barely caught his words before the night consumed them.

“I could never hurt you, Lance.”

A quip about the mostly healed graze on Lance’s thigh died before it could even think of being spoken. 

The moon’s pale light cast long shadows that hid so much more than cracks in the concrete, and a cold wind whistled through the rift that ran deep between them.

“Why did you do it?” Lance’s voice was heavy, tired. All but given up.

“You know why.”

“Keith, please.”

“Our society is corrupt.”

Lance interrupted with a snort. “Stating the obvious, there.” 

“Things need to change. The mindset, the authority… all of it. So… so I’m doing my bit. Or trying to.”

“What made you think that  _ they _ were the ones who could help you make that change? They’re villains, Keith. It’s even in the name. They kill people, they wreak havoc, they cause damage.”

“Maybe our world  _ needs _ a little damage.”

“You could have been one of us. You were so close, you had your future laid out in front of you… you could have been a Hero.” 

“That’s it, though. You said my future was laid out in front of me, but by who? The Hero Association? The media? Society in general? I never got to decide, I never even got to say if that was the future I wanted. It was just the future that was expected of me. And it’s not just me. I was one of the lucky ones, I escaped. So many don’t, and they suffer. The cycle is endless, Lance. Something needs to change.”

“Keith, you’re exaggerating, you know-”

“I’m not, Lance.” Keith’s voice was like ice, matching his gaze. “Just think about it, even for a second. You decided you wanted to become a hero aged, what, five, perhaps? You were accepted into a hero course aged 16. From there on, your ‘choices’ were thinly veiled directions. You will intern now. You will work now. You will graduate and you will become a sidekick, otherwise you are a failure. You will rise to the top, and if you don’t, you will die trying. Otherwise, you are a  _ failure _ . The pressure gets to you, doesn’t it? You have to be at your best every minute of every day. You have to smile, you have to push yourself to your limits and keep going. You experience what no person should have to experience, and you have to pretend the eyes of the ones you couldn’t reach, the ones you couldn’t save, you pretend they don’t haunt your every waking moment, they don’t form your nightmares which you can never talk about. Because if you show your cracks, society will dig their claws in and tear you apart.”

Lance was silent.

“The League isn’t great either. Believe me, I know. But at this point, I’ll take what freedom I can get, and help burn this place to the ground while I’m at it.”

Lance could only watch, helplessly, as the rift grew, pushing the two further apart. 

Keith was right - Lance was trapped. All the paths he could take boiled down to one, and anything else would have him looked down upon for the rest of his life. 

Not for the first time, but certainly for the first time in a considerable while, Lance envied Keith. 

“Well…. I’ll see you around.” Keith nodded, eyes downcast as he pushed away from the wall and turned his back on Lance.

He couldn’t bear to listen to the receding footsteps for more than a moment.

“Wait! Keith,” Lance blurted, stumbling forwards.

His hand closed around Keith’s wrist, holding tight, scared he’d slip through his fingers like he had already so many times. Holding him back, clinging to what little hope he could. Eyes pleading, desperate.

“You could still come back, y’know.”

“Lance-” Keith turned, sliding his own hand up until it was clasped with Lance’s.

“It would be hard, yeah, but we could do it. Together. You could be a hero with me, you can come back to all of us. We can make a difference  _ together _ . You can still come back, don’t lose hope.”

“But what if I don’t want to, Lance.” 

Lance was silent as he let the words sink in. He felt the last of his hope fall from his face, features sagging.

“I joined to make my own decisions. That’s a choice I won’t give up, I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t get hurt, okay?” 

“Until next time, sharpshooter.” The ghost of a smile graced Keith’s features as he raised their twined hands, pressing Lance’s knuckles to his lips.

The ghost of the kiss still echoed on Lance’s fingers even after Keith had turned the corner out of the alleyway, hesitating for a fraction of a second, but leaving nonetheless. There was no point in chasing after him - Lance had tried time and time again, but Keith could only be found if he wanted to be.

“Stay safe, samurai,” he whispered to the night air.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't think I've recc'ed this before, but if I have it totally deserves it again. 
> 
> Love Interest by iwriteshipsnotsailthem is an absolutely amazing klance actor au and it's super long and amazing and ahhh I love it go give it a read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15996545/chapters/37321946).
> 
> Please leave a comment! It's the only feedback we as writers get, it means the world. I'm not kidding when I say that comments I get regularly get set as my laptop wallpaper because of how much they make me smile.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/galacticlance)  
> [Tumblr](https://galacticlance.tumblr.com/)  
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/galacticlance_/)


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